


For Granted

by palavreado



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Reality, Gen, Mood Whiplash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palavreado/pseuds/palavreado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mourn your own death, mourn the death of those who were a part of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Granted

**Author's Note:**

> I'd lie if I said I was sorry for this.

“Ohhhh, right in the side, Crowley!”

“What can I say? I’m spectacular at parrying.”

They were fighting, or, well, they had been fighting. Right up until that fatal wound Crowley managed to land right above Aziraphale’s waist. Now they were both laying on the ground, Aziraphale slowly dying, and Crowley being a good (bad?) sport.

“I’m going to kill you,” Aziraphale pointed slowly to the demon’s forehead and poked him with his last bit of arm strength.

“No worries, I’ll be here. Good job on the fatal wound too, I was afraid I wasn’t going to be able to mourn you over a nice glass of wine.”

Aziraphale smiled, or at least bore his teeth a bit. It was all the same in the end, “It’s not mourning if you’re not sad, dear.”

“Oh, but I’ll be devastated. Who else will I be able to make fun of for wearing that ridiculous checked pattern of yours?”

“It’s fashionable.”

“You poor, deluded soul.”

They lay in silence for a bit more.

“If anyone’s going to mourn me, it’ll be me.”

“Vanity, angel.”

“Well, there’s nobody else to do it. And humans mourn themselves, don’t they?”

“Oh no, they’re far too worried for that. ‘Who will take after my house?’, ‘What will become of my son?’, ‘I’m not really dead, am I?’, terribly annoying lot. Takes them ages to come to terms with their own deaths, and then, poof, morbidly depressed. Must be a right pain in the arse, being Death.”

“Oh yes, poor Azrael. Worst job in the world. Doesn’t even get a vacation, you know? People don’t stop dying. Always moving about, doing something, killing people.”

“Miserable bugger…”

HEY. I HEARD THAT.

Both angel and demon (though the angel with far more effort) turned to face Azrael, the angel of Death, and if skeletons could frown, or make any other facial expression, this one would be doing just that.

“Hey, Azrael,” Crowley waved, vaguely.

JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN’T SEE ME DOESN’T MEAN I’M NOT THERE. RIGHT NEXT TO YOU. EVERY STEP OF THE WAY. EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE, EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE.

“Azrael, dear, that’s really creepy.”

OH… WELL… GOSH, SORRY. JUST… FORGET I SAID ANYTHING?

“Sure, why not?”

AZIRAPHALE.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming. I was getting comfortable, too.”

“Aw, can’t he stay a bit longer? It was fun watching him bleed to death.”

NO. HE’S DEAD AND YOU ARE A STRANGE LITTLE MAN TALKING TO A CORPSE YOU JUST KILLED.

“Oh, alright,” Crowley waved goodbye as Aziraphale was sent elsewhere, presumably Heaven, “So when’s he coming back down?”

…PARDON?

“You know, new corporation, coming back down, fighting, one of us gets discorporated again. The usual.”

OH.

“Yeah, so when?”

THEY DIDN’T TELL YOU?

“Didn’t tell me? Didn’t tell me what?”

HEAVEN WASN’T TOO SURE OF AZIRAPHALE’S… PROGRESS. THOUGHT HE WAS GETTING TOO CORRUPTED STAYING DOWN HERE?”

“So he’s going to stay in Heaven?”

WELL

“So he’s not going to stay in Heaven? Where’s he going?”

UH

“Where is he going?”

NOWHERE.

“So he’s staying here?”

NO. HE’S GOING NOWHERE AS IN… NOWHERE.

“Purgatory?”

NO.

“ _Hell?!_ ”

NOPE.

“Then _where_?!”

NOWHERE. HE IS GOING NOWHERE. HE WILL NEVER GO ANYWHERE AGAIN.

“…what?”

HEAVEN THOUGHT IT WAS BETTER… THAN HAVING HIM FALL… OR HAVING HIM STAY HUMAN. THEY SPARED HIM THE PAIN.

“By _deleting_ him?!”

ACTUALLY, IT WAS GOING TO BE WHOEVER DIED FIRST. YOU TWO JUST WEREN’T WORKING TOGETHER. OR, WELL, YOU WERE WORKING TOO WELL TOGETHER.

“No.”

“I’M SURE HEAVEN WILL FIND A SUITABLE REPLACEMENT.

“No no no no no, I don’t _want_ a bloody replacement. I want Aziraphale!” Crowley practically screamed.

NO CAN DO, I’M AFRAID.

“They can’t just do that to him! He’s the best bloody angel I’ve ever met!”

YEAH, YOU SEE, THAT’S EXACTLY THE PROBLEM.

“I don’t _care_!”

HEY, DON’T SHOOT THE MESSENGER.

Crowley grabbed a fistful of waving black collar and gritted his teeth, “Bring him back.”

The skull looked almost sad as its skeleton fingers brushed Crowley’s hand away, I’M SORRY…, and the black cloak, along with its inhabitant vanished.

\--

They sent another angel, but it wasn’t even remotely necessary. There weren’t any wiles to thwart. The demon went back to being a serpent and the serpent slithered away. There was no drinking, or wars, or famine, or pollution, or law infringement or two man-shaped being fighting every few decades. There was no tempting, or smiting, and when the Ritz was finally invented, there were always two spots that were depressingly empty.

The world was at peace. Miserably so.

 


End file.
